


You'd Better Watch Out

by turps



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 03:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: Athos is working Christmas Eve.





	You'd Better Watch Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aqwt101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqwt101/gifts).



> This is a modern AU where Athos, Aramis and Porthos are police officers.
> 
> Thank you to Sperrywink for looking this over for me.
> 
> I hope you like it, aqwt101

Having to work on Christmas eve isn’t Athos’ favourite thing ever, but truthfully, he doesn't actually mind.

Sure, it would be nice to be at home in his warm flat watching terrible festive tv with his cat stretched out on his knee and a mince pie and glass of wine close at hand; but this isn’t bad either. Not that he’s going to admit that -- Athos isn’t stupid.

“It’s getting crazy out there.” Porthos is carrying two cardboard cups from Costa, the Christmas kind with festive scenes on the side. Athos hopes his contains black coffee and not the hazelnut latte that Porthos loves so much, which is hideous and far too sweet and always has too much cream on the top. “And yours is just coffee, you can stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling.” And Athos isn’t, not really, it’s not his fault his mouth naturally curls down as he reaches through the open car window to take the cups from Porthos. “But I will if you don’t get in already, it’s freezing out there.”

“You’re telling me, my balls are ready to drop off.” Theatrically, Porthos shudders, handing over the cups before walking around the patrol car to get in his side. “I’m sure I saw two penguins running down a side street.”

“Probably that stag party we saw earlier,” Athos says, sighing with contentment as he hands Porthos his drink and takes hold of his own, the warmth quickly seeping into his fingers. “They were half cut at six, they’ll be drunk out of their minds by now.”

“Them and hundreds of others,” Porthos says, exposing a hideous amount of already melting cream as he takes the top off his cup. “I bet Aramis regrets volunteering for the drunk tank now.”

“He’s probably loving it.” Athos takes a long drink of his coffee, barely repressing an audible sigh of happiness as the heat hits his chest. “He’s an idiot.”

“He is,” Porthos agrees, his tone fond as he uses his finger to scoop up some cream. “We should drive over there and see how he’s doing. A tenner he’s wearing antlers and has had at least twenty kisses.”

“That’s a sucker bet,” Athos says, and then adds, “Twenty that he’s wearing a santa hat and it’s at least thirty kisses.”

“Done.” Instantly Porthos holds out his hand to shake, laughing at Athos’ pointed look at his still cream-coated fingers. “It could be worse, they used to seal bets with spit.”

“And they used to ride on horses and fight with swords, the world has moved on.” Plus, Athos hates spit, it’s one of the worst parts of his job, especially as he’s had long practice of arresting people who have no hesitation of gobbing straight at his face. 

“Fine,” Porthos says, still grinning as he wipes his hand on a napkin that’s been stuffed in his cup holder since their McDonalds lunch midway into their shift. “So we’re going to check out the drunk tank?”

“Technically it is on our patrol route,” Athos says, which is true, the high street an area where police presence is always a good thing. “We can do a drive past, make sure there’s no trouble.”

“Sounds good to me.” Porthos puts on his seat belt and settles more comfortably into his seat, relaxed as Athos puts his coffee into the holder and starts up the car. “An hour to midnight, if we’re lucky we might see Santa.”

“We already have,” Athos says, blinking a little against the bright shine of the lights that are strung over the street. “More than I wanted to see.”

Porthos laughs, loud and prolonged, obviously remembering their earlier arrest which involved a streaking Santa wearing nothing but black boots, a false beard and hat. “Poor Santa, I think the cold affected his jingle balls.”

“The cold affected his mind,” Athos corrects, the memory of grappling with the Santa on the cold pavement making his knees ache once again. “Next time you’re taking Santa down.”

“I will,” Porthos says, still smiling, the silence comfortable as Athos keeps driving.

~*~*~

“Athos! Porthos! Hello!”

After parking the patrol car and stepping outside, it takes Athos a few moments to see Aramis who’s standing beside the med tent and waving while using his other arm to clutch a stack of silver space blankets close to his chest. Shivering, Athos blows out a long misted breath, already scowling to head off any requests from drunken idiots who want a selfie with a cop. Not that Porthos has an issue with that. Already, mere minutes since they parked up, he’s surrounded by two women, one of whom is clutching his arm and pressing a kiss against his cheek while her friend takes a photo.

Internally Athos rolls his eyes, knowing it’s pointless making a comment -- police public relationships something important, and if that means second-hand tolerating drunken conversations and good natured banter, well Athos can do that. For a few minutes at least.

Leaving Porthos to his photo, Athos approaches Aramis, and quickly sees his cheeks are covered in distinct lipstick kisses and his hair mussed. And yeah, he’s wearing antlers, ones that come complete with small bells at the tips. 

“Having a good night I see,” Athos says, slowly looking Aramis from head to foot. “Have you even done any work?”

Unabashed, Aramis smiles and nods his head, making the bells jingle. “Six alcohol ODs, a few suspected bad trips, someone who twisted his ankle trying to climb a polar bear statue, and someone who needed stitches after falling out of a Christmas tree.”

“A polar bear statue, right.” Athos doesn’t ask for details, long experience showing it’s better that way. “And the kisses?”

Aramis’ grin widens as he indicates the mass of people wandering past, many staggering and bedecked in tinsel. “Police public relationships, you know the drill. We have to be approachable and friendly.”

“I don’t think that means you’re here to be kissed,” Athos says, stepping forward and grabbing the blankets when they start to slither from Aramis’ grasp. “And what happened to your uniform?”

Aramis looks down, taking in the scrub top that he’s wearing. “Someone puked on it. I borrowed this from one of the nurses.”

“And you couldn’t find one that wasn’t covered in snowmen?” Not that Aramis looks completely ridiculous, in fact, it matches his antlers nicely. But Athos would rather cut out his own tongue than admit that. 

“I could,” Aramis says, tugging at the scrub top so he can better display the cheerful snowmen with their orange carrot noses. “But why would I?”

Athos stares, “Because you’re supposedly a grown man.”

“Yeah, but…” Aramis trails off, the snowmen forgotten when someone screams and there’s the sound of breaking glass from closeby.

Already running, Athos drops the blankets, weaving through the crowd as he heads for the source of the sound. Which seems to be a big group of people that have just exited a nearby pub and are now circled together.

“Porthos, call it in,” Athos snaps, knowing Porthos is close by his side. “Aramis, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like I would,” Aramis says, the antlers slipping back on his head as he pushes into the group, Athos close behind -- and instantly find trouble.

It’s a young woman screaming, frozen in place while in front of her two men are fighting, pounding each other with fists, blood splattering from both as they grapple. One is wearing a Santa suit and Athos grabs hold of the belt and tugs, trying to keep the man still -- but quickly realises his mistake.

The man yells, throwing himself to the side and Athos is pulled off balance, sprawling forward, his knees hitting the hard ground, Porthos and Aramis yelling the last thing he hears as a fist comes straight at his face.

~*~*~*~

“Easy, you’re okay.”

Athos groans, his head pounding and feeling sick as he slowly opens his eyes. At first all he can see is white lights, blurred and wavering where they’re attached to the top of a tent, then he looks down, and sees the silver space blanket tucked under his chin.

“You got yourself knocked out, you’ll be going to the hospital soon but they’re kind of busy with real injuries, so you’ll have to wait here for a bit.” Aramis sits on the side of the cot, and while he sounds amused, his actions are practiced, professional as he checks Athos over. “Do you want a drink of water?.”

“I was knocked out.” The blanket crinkles as Athos shifts slightly, turning his head so he can look around, taking in the strung up fairy lights and tinsel as well as the other cots, two of which are being used by clearly drunk revellers propped on their sides, sick bowls close at hand. “By a punch. On Christmas eve.”

“You were,” Aramis agrees, opening a bottle of water which he offers to Athos. “Just a sip remember and you can have painkillers if you want.”

“I want,” Athos says, his head aching even more as he realises he must have been carried back to the drunk tank. “Tell me you didn’t carry me here.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Aramis pops out two pain killers, handing the pills to Athos. “And if anyone asks, you weren’t carried back here by two Santas, an elf and Porthos.”

“Good.” Athos screws shut his eyes, then opens them wide, staring at Aramis. “Porthos, is….”

“He’s fine, dealing with the guy who punched you. Who says he’s sorry by the way. Apparently he didn’t know you were a cop.”

“Of course he didn’t, I mean, it’s not like I wear a uniform or anything,” Athos says, falling silent and counting as he hears a church bell start to ring, signifying a new hour. “Twelve bongs. It’s Christmas day.”

“It is,” Aramis says, smiling as he rests his hand over his scrub top and the cross that’s hidden below it. “Happy Christmas, Athos.”

“Happy Christmas,” Athos repeats, tired and aching and just about to drift off when Aramis’ words fully hit, Athos sitting up in the cot as he says, “Two santas and an elf? The fuck?!”

All Aramis does in laugh in response.


End file.
